Peter Parley's Own Story / From the Personal Narrative of the Late Samuel G. Goodrich, ("Peter Parley")

by Samuel G. Goodrich

Though the steam-gun never reached any practical result, it was for some time the admiration of London. I was present at an exhibition of its wonderful performances in the presence of the Duke of Sussex, the Duke of Wellington, and other persons of note. The purpose of the machine was to discharge bullets by steam, instead of gunpowder, and with great rapidity—at least a hundred a minute. The balls were put in a sort of tunnel, and by working a crank back and forward, they were let into the chamber of the barrel one by one, and expelled by the steam. The noise of each explosion was like that of a musket; and when the discharges were rapid, there was a ripping uproar, quite shocking to tender nerves. The balls—carried about a hundred feet across the smithy—struck upon an iron target, and were flattened to the thickness of a shilling piece.

The whole performance was indeed quite formidable, and the Duke of Sussex seemed greatly excited. I stood close to him; and when the bullets flew pretty thick, and the discharge came to its climax, I heard him say to the Duke of Wellington, in an under-tone,—"Wonderful, wonderful—wonderful! wonderful, wonderful—wonderful! wonderful, wonderful—wonderful!" and so he went on, without variation. It was, in fact, a very good commentary upon the performance.

Having spoken of the Duke of Sussex, I must say a few words of his brother, the Duke of York, whom I had seen at Ascot. He was there interested in the race, for he had entered a horse by the name of Moses, for one of the prizes. Some person reflected upon him for this. His ready reply was, that he was devoted to Moses and the profits. Despite his disgrace in the Flanders campaign, and his notorious profligacy, he was still a favorite among the British people. There was about him a certain native honorableness and goodness of heart, which always existed, even in the midst of his worst career.

I saw the Duke on another occasion, at a cavalry review on Hounslow Heath. The Duke of Wellington was among the spectators. He was now in military dress, and mounted on a fine chestnut-colored horse. His motions were quick, and frequently seemed to indicate impatience. Several ladies and gentlemen on horseback were admitted to the review, and within the circle of the sentries stationed to exclude the crowd. I obtained admission by paying five shillings; for I learned that in England money is quite as mighty as in America. The privileged group of fair ladies and brave men, gathered upon a grassy knoll to observe the evolutions of the soldiers, presented an assemblage such as the aristocracy of England alone can furnish. Those who imagine that this is an effeminate generation, should learn that both the men and women belonging to the British nobility, taken together, are without doubt the finest race in the world. One thing is certain, these ladies could stand fire; for although the horses leaped and pranced at the discharges of the troops, their fair riders seemed as much at ease as if upon their own feet. Their horsemanship was indeed admirable, and suggested those habits of exercise and training, to which their full rounded forms and blooming countenances gave ample testimony.

The performances consisted of various marches and counter-marches—sometimes slow, and sometimes quick—across the extended plain. The evolutions of the flying-artillery excited universal admiration. When the whole body—about four thousand horse—rushed in a furious gallop over the ground, the clash of arms, the thunder of hoofs, the universal shudder of the earth—all together created more thrilling emotions in my mind, than any other military parade I ever beheld. I have seen eighty thousand infantry in the field; but they did not impress my imagination as forcibly as these few regiments of cavalry at Hounslow Heath. One incident gave painful effect to the spectacle. As the whole body were sweeping across the field, a single trooper was pitched from his horse and fell to the ground. A hundred hoofs passed over him, and trampled him into the sod. On swept the gallant host, as heedless of their fallen companion as if only a feather had dropped from of their caps. The conflict of cavalry in real battle, must be the most fearful exhibition which the dread drama of war can furnish. On this occasion both the King and the Duke of York were present; so that it was one off universal interest. About fifty ladies on horseback rode back and forth over the field, on the flanks of the troops, imitating their evolutions.

I have been often at the House of Commons; but I shall now only speak of a debate, in July, 1824, upon the petition, I believe, of the City of London, for a recognition of the independence of some of the South American States. Canning was then Secretary of Foreign Affairs, and took the brunt of the battle made upon the Ministry. Sir James Mackintosh led, and Brougham followed him, on the same side.

I shall not attempt to give you a sketch of the speeches: a mere description of the appearance and manner of the prominent orators will suffice. Sir James, then nearly sixty years old, was a man rather above the ordinary size; and with a fine, philanthropic face. His accent was decidedly Scotch, and his voice shrill and dry. He spoke slowly, often hesitated, and was entirely destitute of what we call eloquence. There was no easy flow of sentences, no gush of feeling, no apparent attempt to address the heart or the imagination. His speech was a rigid lecture, rather abstract and philosophical; evidently addressed to the stern intellect of stern men. He had a good deal of gesture, and once or twice was boisterous in tone and manner. His matter was logical; and occasionally he illustrated his propositions by historical facts, happily narrated. On the whole he made the impression upon my mind that he was a very philosophical, but not very practical, statesman.

Brougham's face and figure are familiar to every one; and making allowance for added years, there is little change in his appearance since the time of which I speak. He had abundance of words, as well as ideas. In his speech on the occasion I describe, he piled thought upon thought, laced sentence within sentence, mingled satire and philosophy, fact and argument, history and anecdote, as if he had been a cornucopia, and was anxious to disburden himself of his abundance. In all this there were several hard hits, and Canning evidently felt them. As he rose to reply, I took careful note of his appearance; for he was then, I imagine, the most conspicuous of the British Statesmen. He was a handsome man, with a bald, shining head, and a figure slightly stooping in the shoulders. His face was round, his eye large and full, his lips a little voluptuous: the whole bearing a lively and refined expression. In other respects, his appearance was not remarkable. His voice was musical; and he spoke with more ease and fluency than most other orators of the House of Commons; yet even he hesitated, paused, and repeated his words, not only in the beginning, but sometimes in the very midst of his argument. He, however, riveted the attention of the Members; and his observations frequently brought out the ejaculation of "hear, hear," from both sides of the House. Brougham and Mackintosh watched him with vigilant attention; now giving nods of assent, and now signs of disapprobation.